


The Gorilla and the Goulash

by LateStarter58



Series: The Booze and Nosh Club: the Tom and Sarah Stories [4]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, broodiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 03:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17051936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: Tom has to go to LA, and that means he misses a trip to Stratford





	The Gorilla and the Goulash

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired jointly by Tom's ridiculous appearance on Jimmy Kimmel, but also by my own visit to Stratford to see SRB in The Tempest:AWESOME!!! I got to tell him so in person, too, an unexpected bonus. So, as these two things coincided, I couldn't resist writing a little fic. This fits into the narrative of An Intimate Act between chapters 7 and 8.

 

_Stewing steak_

_Onions_

_Pancetta_

_Tinned tomatoes_

_Paprika_

_Beef stock & herbs_

_Soured cream or plain yoghurt_

 

“I should get up.”

“No, not yet.” He didn’t move. His comforting weight stayed above me, and I loved it. I needed it. But I had to protest, nonetheless.

“But-”

“Can you move?”

“What? Yes, but…”

“Then it’s too soon.”

I looked at him. His eyes regarded me steadily, a hint of mischief sparkling in them as usual.

“ _Thomas_ …”

“I have yet to make good on my promise.”

“To shag my arse off until neither of us can walk?” This was his pledge to me, before he left Brisbane for home.

“That’s the one.” He was grinning happily now.

“But darling, we have to eat…”

“Details, details…” He dismissed my protests with a wave of his hand.

“But we’ll starve, Tom… someone will break down the door and they’ll find us, still in bed, reduced to two husks…” He started to laugh. “The only discernible sign of life will be your delectable arse, still going in and out.”

 

Eventually he had to go for a piss, and I took my chance to make good my escape. Not, you see, because I wanted to, but I did have to at least check in with my colleagues. He had been home 48 hours, and since the moment he stepped over the threshold, we had done nothing except fuck, eat, drink and sleep.

_What else do you need?_

Oh yes, make a living… I scanned my messages and emails, and nothing seemed urgent. My friends all knew that Tom was back from Oz, so they were leaving us in peace. Duty done, I wandered into the kitchen just as I heard his complaining voice from the bedroom. Ignoring his whining about my absence, I looked in the fridge to see what I could cobble together from its current contents, not really wanting to leave the house at all. Or indeed, get dressed…

“What are you doing, Sarah?”

He was in the doorway, stark naked, arms folded across his chest, toe tapping impatiently.

I glanced at him. A longer look would have been fatal. I gave him my best patient face, eyes slightly averted from his magnificence. “Oh, just trying to keep us alive, you know. Nothing vital.”

“And…?”

“I’m not sure…” I opened the freezer and my eyes alighted on a pack of stewing beef. “I could do us a goulash, if you like? Nice and warming on a chilly day.”

“Sounds perfect. Now, come back to bed so I can warm you up.” _Eye-fuck of EPIC proportions._

I rose above it, tipping the beef into a bowl and putting it in the microwave to defrost. I got an onion out and started to chop, earning me an exasperated sigh.  

“I’m not really hungry, you know. Not for _food_ , anyway.” A warm - _how can he be this warm, standing there, starkers? -_ hand slid inside my robe and cupped my boob, the thumb running over my nipple. Of course my body reacted; he has that effect, even if he’s thousands of miles away. When he’s actually touching me I have no chance.

“You must be a _bit…_ I mean, we’ve only been eating crisps, toast, cheese and fruit-”

“And those bacon rolls Olly brought.”

I gritted my teeth. “Oh yes, that wasn’t at _ALL_ embarrassing…”

“He didn’t see anything.”

“He didn’t need to. You barefoot and in your robe at 3.15 in the afternoon and me shouting hello from the bedroom told him all he needed to know. More, actually.”

I felt him grin against the side of my head as his lips came to rest on my neck, causing another involuntary reaction. I didn’t mind, really. I mean, I _did_ \- a bit - _about Olly_ , but the whole _can’t-keep-his-hands-off-me_ thing, that was just what I needed after time apart. And knowing he was off again, to LA for some monkey business in the not too distant added an extra degree of urgency. _Yes, yes, I know._ I knew this was what I was signing up for, but it still hurts. And I suppose it makes the time together sweeter, if a bit intense.

Tom gently took the (very sharp, Global) knife from my hand, laid it down on the board and turned me to face him. “Is everything OK, Sarah?”

I stretched up to kiss the end of his noble nose, making him chuckle. “Yes, darling. Of course. Now, let me get this cooking, because it needs to bubble for about two hours.”

“You’ll come back to bed, once it’s going?”

“Try and stop me.” I winked at him.

I was back in the bedroom after about ten minutes. Tom was sitting up, scrolling through his phone. He was laughing to himself and looked up to watch unashamedly while I slid my robe off, hung it on the back of the door and walked round to slip under the duvet beside him. I’d used the lavender oil I keep in the kitchen to deodorise my hands after the onions, and I was itching to get to grips with his smooth belly. _You know… to rub off the excess. WHAT? Shut yer face._

“What’s funny?”

“You’re going to love it. They want me to wear a gorilla suit.”

“On Jimmy Kimmel?” I let this information sink in. “Of course, you’ve agreed.”

He grinned even wider, nodding.

“The dancing bear is back, then.”

“It’s just a quick promo for the trailer. Make a splash, get some good coverage.”

I tried to imagine it. “Tell them to make it a good one. You know, one of those ones that look pretty real.” I gave him my best lascivious look. “A _silverback_.” I leaned over and nibbled on his ear, making him shudder, and whispered in a low voice. “Did I ever tell you I have a bit of a thing for gorillas?” I made a couple of grunting noises. _You know, the ones David Attenborough made just before they sat on his lap?_  I think they’re meant to convey contentment or something… anyway, they had an effect on my personal Alpha Male. I was grabbed and turned on my front abruptly, and his large, beautiful hands ( _have I mentioned those too much? No, I can’t have, that’s impossible_ ) lifted me up onto all fours.

I closed my eyes and allowed my happiness to consume me. Tom had been in Australia for so long; _too long_. We did what we could: we wrote to each other, _proper letters, old-style,_  we talked, we texted, we skyped, I had been down there for a couple of too brief visits. But nothing can ever compare to the sheer sensual joy of being naked with him.

_Nothing._

I felt his tongue on the skin between my shoulder blades, cool and slow, making the goose-pimples rise up. I moaned softly and Tom replied with a soft grunt of his own. I leaned back, just a little, feeling his hot, hard penis pressing against my backside. We did not need to speak. I knew him - his body, his desires - better than I had ever known anyone, and to me we felt like one person. _Especially when we made love like this_. We moved together, anticipating the other’s needs, not thinking, not needing to. And It felt totally natural, the wordlessness of it, I mean. I’d never known that before with a man, but Tom and I… Well, I never needed to pretend, or even to worry about what I should be doing or feeling. _I just WAS._ I felt his large hands cup my breasts as he arched his body over mine, hot breath washing over my skin in the cooling room. It was getting dark as the November gloom was falling, but we had been barely aware of the passage of time. Only our bodies told us when to eat, sleep and everything else. Right then, mine was screaming for him, once again. I undulated my back in what I hoped was a seductive way, and it seemed to work.

About an hour later (as I said, time had begun to lose its meaning for us), I rolled on my side and looked at him. _Will it ever get old? Will he?_

“How about getting dressed, love? Can’t really eat hot stew in bed naked.”

He pulled a face. “Can’t we? _Must_ we?”

“I don't think it’s _unreasonable, Sex-Boy_. I need a shower, and so do you, stinky.”

He pouted exaggeratedly.

“Oh, _COME ON._ After two days? _Get dressed, Thomas_ …”

He threw his forearm across his face theatrically. “Bored with me already… _Frailty, thy name is-_ ”

“ _Watch it, RADA_.”

I dressed minimally after my shower, and as I was slipping into my yoga pants and jersey top, I could hear the familiar sound of Tom wet-shaving. My heart sank a little - I had harboured an unspoken hope that he was growing his Henry-beard again. He knew I loved that look on him - _we might have discussed it… or more accurately, he might have come across the pics on my phone which I look at occasionally. WHAT? OK, OFTEN._ The dabble-scrape-dabble rhythm meant no, I assumed, but at least his curls were there - for now.

I was laying the table in the kitchen when he came in.

“That smells divine, darling.”

I turned. “So do you- _OH_!”

He smirked and rubbed his chin, feigning insouciance. “See something you like, Sarah?”

I might have thrown myself at him. I might have kissed him hard. I may also have grabbed his curls and pulled. “Don’t let them cut these in LA. _Please?_ ”

“I promise.”

While I tasted the goulash, adjusted the seasoning and put the noodles into a pan, Tom opened a bottle of red.

“I’m looking forward to this.”

I knew he meant it. Filming _Ragnarok_ had meant months of the gym and healthy eating, and while he quite likes that, my man does like to indulge himself occasionally, especially with a nice glass or two of wine, and my cooking. Or so he says, anyway. And the noises he made when the first couple of mouthfuls went in suggested the goulash met with his approval. The room was quiet for a while, just full of the contented sounds of eating.

“Have you found a home for that ticket yet?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Can’t your Mum make it? She’s quite a fan of Simon, isn’t she?”

“She is, yes, but she’s doing that cookery course with Barbara on Wednesdays. You know, I told you, the Indian food one. In Ipswich.”

“Oh yeah. How’s that going?”

“She seems to like it, and Barb paid, so she feels obliged not to miss a session.”

Tom was mopping up the remaining sauce in his bowl with a piece of bread. “None of your friends can go either?”

“No. Midweek is always tricky, but never mind. I’m sure there’ll be people wanting returns. It’s been sold out for ages.”

Back in late April, I’d booked us seats at the RSC in Stratford, to see Tom’s old mate Simon Russell Beale as Prospero in _The Tempest_. It had been a bit of a gamble, but as the long-confirmed schedule was for Tom to be home at least a week earlier I felt reasonably confident, and booked a hotel room as well. Now this promo gig in LA had come up, and nobody seemed to be available to fill his place. And my in-house Shakespearean was more than a little peeved to be missing it.

“ _Yeah._ ” He pulled a face, but that was how it was. He had a film in the pre-release build-up phase, and as the star, he was obliged. His face brightened suddenly. “Is there anything for dessert?”

“Only ice cream… there’s some Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey left.”

A low growl, followed by the swiftest table clearance and dishwasher loading in history. In five minutes we were in bed with the tub and two spoons.

**********

<Landed. In the car.>

_< Many paps?>_

<The usual. You OK love?>

_< Fine. The bed feels very empty :(>_

<Keep it warm, Pen;)) I’ll be back in a few days.>

_< But I’m away on Wednesday.>_

<...>

_< Not MY fault, ODDY THE SUPERSTAR>_

**********

_< Nice suit. Can you bring it home? :D>_

<Sadly not. Why, fancy some jungle-based fun?>

< _unf_ >

<So, I gave SRB your no.>

_< WOT>_

<He wants to meet you for lunch>

_< WOT>_

<When you get there today. You are arriving early, right?>

_< THOMAS>_

<And going to the theatre to hand in the ticket>

_< Oh, you>_

**********

I drove up. Yes, I have a car now. I don’t use it in London much, but it makes life infinitely easier when I want to go up to Suffolk to see my Mum or Aunty B, or Diana. I arrived safely and with plenty of time to freshen up, visit the box office and mooch around the shop before going up to the Rooftop Restaurant with the finest stage actor in THE WORLD, bar none. Who was meeting me for lunch.

* _screams internally_ *

What a life and what a treat! The weather outside was a bit dodgy (we watched the heavens open and empty themselves into the Avon below us during lunch), but the food was great. I had a club sandwich with hand-cut chips you could play _Jenga_ with, and then pistacchio crème brulée for pudding. Simon was a bit more restrained (“ _I have to be match-fit for later, my dear.”_ ) and passed on the dessert menu, but he seemed to enjoy his fishcakes.

I am not unaccustomed to meeting actors, even before the fateful FND when SMA came into my life. Working for _BBC Drama_ means that’s a weekly, if not daily, occurrence. But somehow, SRB and I had never crossed paths before. As we shared lunch, he was as lovely and kind as Tom described him, as well as funny and entertaining company. We had a few mutual acquaintances, apart from ‘ _My Dear Sweet Hal_ ’ that is, and we chatted generally about those, plus the production and life in general. We parted at about 2.30, so he could rest and I could go and change before the next stage of my RSC full-immersion experience: the pre-performance director’s talk from Greg Doran.

**********

<How was it?>

_< Great. Amazing. Stunning. Why are you not acting with him? I missed you rotten>_

<Did someone take the ticket?>

_< They did. I think she recognised me. She kept staring.>_

<Rude>

_< No. She was nice. Must be a ‘stoner>_

<Like you>

_< I am not a fangirl>_

_< Really? You sounded like a big fan last weekend>_

_< Ex->_

<Oh you are leaving me? Did my Sir John steal your heart?>

_< He did. Oh brave new world>_

<Frailty, thy name is woman>

_< Fear not, Odysseus, your faithful Penelope will be waiting in your bed when you return.>_

<She will outstrip all praise and make it halt behind her>

_< I would not wish any companion in the world but you>_

<Must I call you Miranda, now?>

_< If you will be my Ferdinand, my darling>_

**********

The best thing in the world is waking up next to the Sexiest Man Alive ( _who IS also Britain’s Best Dressed Man, FFS - this is the problem with universal suffrage… democracy, that double-edged sword…)._ He is always warm, always smells yummy, always has those long arms around me… except when I have snuggled behind him, up against the arse of Apollo.

This particular morning, the one after he got back from his quick trip to LA to dress as Kong, I woke up to see his beautiful face, beard, bed hair of DOOM, long eyelashes on his cheeks, one of those hands of sex on the pillow… _sorry, I drifted off again. It’s the bloody freckles, I tell you…_ I just had to ravage him. Because there was my very own Harry Five… I had never been the same since _The Hollow Crown._ That was when I fell for him. I can’t totally pin down the _precise_ moment, but I know that by the time he was up on the table, ‘doing’ Jeremy Irons, I was a goner. And little did I know that in a handful of years we’d be a couple. It still feels unreal, until I open my eyes and there are his, gazing back at me. He loves me.

  1. LOVES. _ME_.



_It’s real and it’s special and it’s OURS._

So yeah, I ravaged him. I started slow, licking and kissing the hairline, and playing with his curls. I never want him to cut his hair so short again. He is a thousand times sexier with the curls, and I will never stop saying that, and _I don't care what role he is playing, he can wear a wig and keep those because I NEED THEM._ I felt him take a deep breath and roll onto his back so I went with him, straddling. Warm hands settled on my thighs and Captain Conrad’s weapon made itself known to me.

_We are old friends. We are very familiar with one another. We are yet to become bored._

“Morning.”

“Shhhh…”

Words were for later. After. I traced the contours of his face with my fingertips, admiring the shapes of the bones beneath the skin, the edges of his lips, the divot at the end of that nose. He watched me through half-open eyes, still sleepy. But I could feel the tension in his abdomen and legs building as I leaned down and caught his lower lip between my teeth. He moaned softly and I felt my wetness triple. _Is the passion so intense because we are apart so much? Would we get fed up with each other if we were together all the time? I doubt I would - I mean, LOOK AT HIM. I hope not._  

But for now, all such foolish worries were forgotten as I slid myself down his ridiculously long body and took the aforementioned weapon into my mouth. I miss the taste, the feel of him when he’s not around, so I was determined to enjoy every possible aspect of his presence that morning. He moaned again, louder this time and I felt him shudder with desire as I sucked firmly and pressed my tongue against the lower side of him.

“Oh fuck, oh god, Sarah, _oh fuuuuck…_ ”

His hands in my hair began to pull gently and I knew he wanted me to release him. I drifted back up and he caught my hips and lowered me down, both of us groaning with pleasure at the sensation. I looked into those lovely eyes, then I had to close mine as passion took hold and I lost control. I wanted to devour him, absorb his body into mine. This year we had spent too long apart, more, _much more_ time than we had together and I needed to be as close as possible now. I needed there to be not a molecule of space between us.

“Sarah? What is it, love?”

I was crying. I didn't mean to, but the year had been so long, I knew that the next one would bring more of the same

_I don't know why they can’t film all the Marvel movies in North London_

_All movies, in fact_

and the thought had overwhelmed me.

“Sorry, sorry…”

I kissed him hard, and squeezed him inside, causing him to gasp and buck up into me. His eyes lost focus and he grabbed the back of my neck. I leaned in and bit his shoulder as he pummelled me from below. I ran my hands over his head, I moaned, I kissed and relished his power. I came, shouting his name and he rode out my orgasm, kissing my face. Eventually his hands tightened on my hips and held me firm. Not too long after he thrust hard, as if he wanted to go as far in as he could. _I always love that part._

“What’s wrong, Sarah?” His lips were resting on my temple.

“Nothing, really.”

“ _Penny_ …”

I knew that tone. “I’m sorry. It’s… I’m struggling, Tom.” I opened my eyes so I could look into his face. “This life, it’s such a rollercoaster. Everything is so intense. We are apart - so fucking far, and for so long - and I miss you so much. I thought I’d get used to it. Assumed I would, because I am good at coping. And I had my own life here; I have that, still _._ But I haven’t got used to it, Tom. It just gets harder. Then you come home, or I got to you, we are together and we can't breathe if it's not each other's air. I don't want to be an inch away from you. It's not normal..."

“Then come with me. _All the time_.”

I didn’t answer that. It was the nub of the whole thing. I looked at him, trying not to start crying again. He sighed, and I could see he was fighting the urge to tell me to give up my job and go with him after the Christmas break. But he wouldn't ask me to do that, because he’s not like that. I, however…

“I don’t think I can bear it any more, Tom. It hurts. _Physically. Really badly._ ”

“I know.” He stroked my hair.

“But I don't know what I want to do about work.”

My career had begun to take off, properly, since we had been together. I got a break, a rewrite (more than my usual routine script editing), then I was offered a proper writing job on the next level. I was focusing on that project, which was expected to start filming in the late spring. Giving it up now, or even just asking for work I could do long-distance, might stall me permanently. And there was Mum, too. She was well, had been for a while, but…

“God, it’s _NOT FAIR!”_

What I wasn't mentioning was the other desperate urge that had begun to haunt my every thought. It was agony, and Aunty Barbara had hinted at it so unsubtly on the phone the day before that I nearly hung up on her. _I was NOT interested in her neighbour’s new grandchild, nor did I want to hear how much Mum had loved playing with the chef’s little boy at the cookery lesson last Wednesday..._

Tom pulled me closer and kissed my lips sweetly. “You know, if you could travel with me, it would be wonderful, my darling. This past year and a half has been the best time for me, since I can’t remember when. It would be so different, so much more like life instead of marking time, if you were there with me, all the time. Because I miss you, just as much, you know that. It hurts me, too.”

Why did this have to be so hard? It was pretty simple, on the face of it. We were in love. We were a couple. It was not formal yet, although I had a feeling that was coming. But at that moment I had a mighty need and the _pushmepullyou_ of the past week - _him here, then gone, then back again -_ had brought it closer to the surface. He looked deeply into my eyes and that seemed to break the dam. I whispered it, almost afraid to say the words.

“I realised something, while you were in LA. I think I’ve known it for a while, if I’m honest.” I took a breath, nearly changed my mind about speaking it aloud, then felt it would be wrong not to be completely honest. “I want a baby, Tom. I want your baby.” I saw his eyes widen, just a little. _A bit of a bombshell, I suppose._ I watched him process my words quickly, then he kissed me again, deeply, passionately, and held me tight against him. “I want _our baby.”_

I felt him squeezing even tighter and he exhaled softly, a breath that juddered into my hair. We stayed that way for a long minute, then he leaned back against the bedhead and fixed me with that look of his.

“I am ready for that, Sarah. I want our baby too.”

I gasped, I think. I know my vision went blurry.

“You know I don’t mean I want a baby just because you’re away a lot, right, Tom? You get that?”

He nodded.

“It’s something that’s crept up on me, since...well, I suppose since Wales.” He smiled at the memory of our great reveal, and the fun with Mum and Aunty Barbara. “It’s my age, I guess, the old clock ticking… And Barbara keeps dropping hints. Mum never says a word, but I know she’d… But I’ve never really thought about it much, before. Maybe being in love has that effect? I’ve seen it with friends.”

“You don’t have to explain, Sarah. You know I love you.” He kissed me sweetly again, and wiped the tears from my cheeks. “And I understand that you have a lot to think about, with your job, and how that’s all going.” He smiled wryly. “I’ve been there, done that, messed things up.” The intense Eyefuck of Doom again. “We can work this out, the two of us, but I want you to be totally sure about everything. We both need to be totally sure about everything” _The look, the half-smile, all the things that melt me…_

_*********_

So, you ask, a week on, have we settled on anything? Agreed on a way forward, a timetable… even on what to do? _No, of course not_. We have talked for hours, he has told me how he feels - _positive, accepting that it is my decision, timing-wise, but also realising that, given our lives, we will have to plan this carefully._ I can’t decide yet, and he is getting on with his commitments while waiting patiently for me to mull it all over. I have been working for ten years to get to where I am, and it isn’t an easy choice to set it aside, or even to roll back on the gas a bit. _Why did it all have to step up to top gear NOW?_ And I have to think carefully about committing to being overseas for months on end, because of my mother’s mental illness. She is vulnerable, and it might be that simply knowing I am thousands of miles away could set her off. She wouldn't be alone, but she is my Mum, after all. _Although getting a grandchild at last would probably make her grow wings..._

Meanwhile I feed my Christmas cake and wrap gifts, write cards, and prepare for the holidays. And I work on my first proper writing assignment, the one that could make me a success, professionally. I have everything I want, all in a rush, all at once and, me being me, I turn that incredible good fortune into a problem. But then I remember what - _who_ \- the cause of this dilemma is and I think, _WOW, girl._


End file.
